A Modest Apology

Earlier this week I decided that I would participate in National Novel Writing Month. Lambchop has nudged for this off and on for several months. I don’t think I have a novel in me, but what is the harm in trying? I mean besides my own ego. I am sure you’ve noticed that my blog posting is irregular. Sometimes I have 3 posts in a week and other times I can go two week s till I force myself to find something to write about. More often the trouble is finding things I can write about. No sense in digging myself into a hole. Sadly I blame it on my muse. She is as fickle as four-year-old picking out lollipops.

This has been an interesting year and a time of change. No, I don’t think it’s my mid-life crisis; it’s still over the horizon, lurking behind the earth’s curvature. At this point in my life I know what I do and do not do well. Rather than focus on what I know I can do, I think I should stretch and try something I am pretty sure I’ll struggle with. That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right? I hope so.

I’m sorry.

My first order of business is to apologize in advance. I am positive that I will offend at least one person. My imagination is not nearly as well-developed as it could be. Someone will see themselves in a character. Others will recognize a situation and say “How the fuck could Lee write that! He knows I don’t want people to know about that.” They’ll know. They’ll see. They will know I know. They just won’t know who you are; unless they already do.

I’m sorry.

Once wasn’t enough was it? Seriously, it never is.

In a perfect world, the words will flow and images and concepts will transfer from mind to fingers to keyboard to keyboard to internet to you. We both know that won’t happen. I will probably find comfort and inspiration in the bottom of glass. That worked well for Poe and Hemingway, and we know how they turned out, right?

Why am I doing this? I don’t know. Probably just because. It is a good enough answer to give our kids, so it must suffice now. But don’t think I’ll stop watching football, cooking or miss my niece’s bat mitzvah for this. I won’t. I guess it is as much of an obstacle course as it is a mental stretch and marathon. Great. I have the body all athletes aspire to.

In the end, it really is just an experiment. I have no illusions that I’m the next George R.R. Martin or James Patterson (ok, I don’t read Patterson, but the Monkey does.) With a little luck and perseverance it will improve my post quality and frequency here. We will know on December 1st, won’t we?

Now it is time to stock up scotch and maybe some of Evil Twin’s Wet Dream (damn that stuff is great.). I already have plenty of wine. You knew that.